


Green Fingers

by ironicHeadtilt



Series: One Bright Day in the Middle of the Night [1]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Canon Compliant, Danny reacts to Death, Dialogue Heavy, First Meetings, Gen, Ghost Zone, Major Character Death because ghosts are dead, Mind Fuck, Origin Story, Pre-Canon Flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicHeadtilt/pseuds/ironicHeadtilt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here lies the All-Star sneakers of a teenage fuck up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a part of the new-age Danny Phantom fandom, so I don't use the name, "Dan." It's just not in me. Try to enjoy it anyway.

Danny woke from what was arguably the best sleep he'd ever gotten with a sudden nausea. The ceiling was too far above him and his head was tilted too far back; he didn't have a pillow? No, he wasn't in his bed. He wasn't in his room. The nausea prevented him from moving, as it worsened when he attempted to lift his upper body. He groaned, pretty much sick of this shit, and gave up fighting it, laying still until the danger of tossing cookies passed without event.

The room smelled like school. He panicked briefly, assuming he'd passed out in class. It was too quiet. He dared to open his eyes and saw dust wafting disconcertingly in the hazy yellow light coming through the windows of the classroom. The fluorescents weren't on, leaving only the unnatural looking light to illuminate empty desks and dirty linoleum; half the room was stark, the other half muted. Danny ventured a head lift, and decided he felt okay enough to get up. He got to his feet, took a few hesitant steps. The dizziness was overwhelming. He threw up, reflexively covering his mouth with his hand before lurching forward to keep it off his canvas All-Stars.

"Aw, fucking-" Danny moaned, vomit wet on his hand. 

He stumbled out of the classroom to find the hallway just as empty. It had to be after school hours, he thought; by the light, it had to be twilight. It had to be amnesia preventing him from remembering what he was doing there. It had to be some ghost bullshit. But his ghost sense wasn't going off and there was something iffy about the silence that permeated the brick walls.

Danny walked into the bathroom to wash his hands. The puke had already somewhat congealed and it really grossed him out. He scrubbed thoroughly, checking himself in the mirror for spots on his shirt. 

His reflection wasn't behaving correctly. He slowed his hands, letting the water run through his fingers. The sound of the gushing faucet filled the bathroom. Danny turned his head to the side. His reflection moved. He turned to the other side. It followed. It was about half a second late. 

Danny attempted to go ghost. Nothing happened. He remained dark haired and blue-eyed. Danny hesitated, trying to remember how he ever went ghost in the first place. He stared helplessly at his reflection, which had stopped moving.

He rushed out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

"We're just going to walk outside and find that this is some mad shit by some tragic ghost and we're going to go back to normal." Danny muttered, looking down at his ungloved hands. His mind felt gaping with missing information, missing identity. His thoughts were oddly fragmented: all predicates and no verbs.

The front door opened with an echoing clank to a motionless lawn. Everything seemed in place, for miles even. Amity Park unashamedly stood in front of him in all its shitty glory.

"Hello?" He ventured a yell, walking forward in the glow. The sky was featureless, save the yellow blanket of fuzziness that seemed to think it could pass as clouds. 

Danny would find it extremely relaxing if not for the circumstances. It reminded him of one warm summer dusk when he was ten-years-old and he had laid down alone in the grass to wait for his mom to call him inside. He'd felt a strange melancholy, like time falling into place, and he'd decided he wanted to remember that moment when he was older. He had been momentarily ageless, connected to his whole self as a functioning part of his own future, as various older versions of himself reached back in time and touched that moment; just as Danny was doing then when he compared this place to that remembrance, adding to the ever increasing personal cosmetic importance of the innocuous memory.

Melodrama aside, he continued to amble down the sidewalk and decided to head towards his house. He wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to be looking for yet, but he assumed whatever it was it was probably centered around him, so the chance that the Big Bad would be at his house seemed pretty fucking high. 

The whole city was silent, with nary a person in sight. The park's water fountain was flowing, but it was playing on loop, the same thirty seconds over and over again. He came to the edge and watched the water replay flawlessly in the same eddies and whirls and felt a twinge of guilt. He couldn't remember exactly what that guilt was about, but it was vaguely embarrassing in color. He moved on, really motivated to get to the bottom of this.

Danny arrived at his front doorstep faster than he knew was possible. It wasn't exactly teleportation; it was more like he'd just skipped some parts getting there. Hesitation set in as he realized he still couldn't go ghost. He took a step back and looked at the building in its entirety. If there was something devious happening, it was happening silently. Taking a deep sighing breath, he cracked the door open and stuck his head in. 

A wave of déjà vu washed over him. The rooms seemed pieced together from various pictures instead of being actual 3D objects existing on the physical plain. 

He heard footsteps upstairs.

"If you're some sorta fucking ghost, I swear to God, I'm not in the mood for this, so if you'd be ever so kind as to not shit on me, that'd be great," Danny said loud enough that whoever - or whatever - was upstairs could hear. The footsteps stopped. "Thank you."

"You've got to be kidding me," a voice came back. Danny blinked, taken aback. Was that... Was that his voice?

"Uh, hello?" He called back, trekking up the stairs. 

He was met in the hallway by his own countenance. No, not his. Not technically.

"I- uh- er-" Danny was able to say before lapsing into silence.

The Ghost Boy stared at him, wide eyed. He looked pale, his skin contrasting cleanly against the matte black spandex of his suit, a disconcerting white glow surrounding him like a halo. His pearl hair was perfectly coiffed, layered in flipped angles, over neon green irises.

"How did you get in here?" The Phantom asked, defensive.

"I was sorta hoping you could tell me that," Danny said, walking past the Phantom to his room. "Assuming you're not actually just some product of all this bullshit."

Danny turned back to the hall, where the Ghost Boy stood. The Phantom rolled his eyes.

"Way to figure that one out, jackass," The ghost quipped, tilting his head. "Maybe shoulda started with paranoid and cagey before shimmying past the random body double."

"So-"

"How exactly to say, 'I'm legit' without sounding like I'm bullshitting you..."

"I'd ask for some personal fact that only I would know but-"

"But we both know that we don't exactly want to hear one," The ghost grinned sardonically.

"Still..." Danny said, pursing his lips. He stepped back into his room. It was designed like the rest of his house, though the picture pieces were more fragmented. The lighting minutely changed within the individual sections, causing a subtle wave effect in the room that he hadn't noticed in the earlier rooms. "Where am I?"

"The Ghost Zone," The ghost boy said in a plain voice, shuffling past Danny, and hesitated in the middle of the room.

"I'm confused," Danny shook his head, scrubbing his forehead with his palm before combing his fingers through his hair. "What?"

The Phantom sucked his lips into his mouth, giving Danny a look heavy with pity. Danny ignored it, plowed forward because he really didn't want to hear what that look was preceding.

"Nevermind. Let's just get out of here. Where-" Danny stepped forward, grabbing at Danny's gloved arm. His hand went right through his wrist. Danny stared down at it for a second. "Did you just- Did I just phase through your arm?"

"Danny," He sighed, plopping back onto the bed. "What exactly do you remember?"

"Well, nothing, actually, thank you. I appreciate the whole cryptic overtly mature fantasy-esque reach around, but I'm really not interested in some revelation right now."

"I'm trying to be fucking serious for once. Please just bear with me for, like, five freaking minutes."

"Five? Oh my God."

"You know what? I don't have to deal with this." He phased through the bed.

"Hold on," Danny lurched forward. His ghost self came back up through the bed. His face was stoically blank. Danny was leaned awkwardly at the end of the bed. "God, where's the funeral? Lighten up."

"It's here, now that I think about it.”

"What?"

"Your funeral."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Ever wonder where the ghosts came from? I mean," Danny's expression softened a mite. "What are ghosts, Danny?"

"Well," Danny bit his lip. "They're dead people, I suppose."

"How am I here?" The ghost asked.

"I-" Danny realized he'd already known this; had tried to convince himself he was an exception somehow, but had always known there was no such thing as exceptions. "I died. You died."

"So how are you here now?" The ghost whispered. Danny went cold.

"I'm not dead." Danny asserted, backing up from the bed.

"Then how are you here?"

"I don't know, but that doesn't make sense."

"None of this makes sense," The ghost's face twisted, trying to keep the emotionless mask opaque. He turned his head to the side, "If you're dead, how am I still here? Aren't I you?"

"I didn't- I don't remember fucking dying; I should remember, right?" The ghost made eye contact. "Right?"

"No... Well, maybe..."

"How do you not know?"

"Well, I'm not exactly typical. I don't know, really." He said, simply, "What's the last thing that happened to you?"

"I can't remember, exactly.”

The phantom was quiet. He made a face, a disappointed clicking noise and walked over to stand in front of Danny, an aged look to his eyes.

Danny didn't appreciate feeling patronized. He shoved the other's spandex-covered chest as he passed him and stalked up to the windowsill.

"I went to school. I was at an assembly, then at the burger joint," Danny shook his head, his reflection in the window misbehaving. "But it's all very vague. Like I'm trying to remember some ordinary day that happened a year ago."

"What was the last thing that happened to you?"

"I don't remember the last thing that happened to me."

"How do you know that?"

"I can feel it," Danny leaned his forehead against the window, smudging it. A moment of quiet stretched on. The silence was heavy.

"Well, then," the ghost finally said, "We have two options. One: we assume you're dead and do nothing. Two: we rail against the machine and try to find some answers."

"That sounds like one option to me." He mumbled into the glass, then louder, "How do we get to the rest of the Ghost Zone?"

"I might know… are you sure that's what you want to do?”

Something in Danny's mind clicked into place. He'd been so wrapped up in solving his personal mystery, he'd made a few assumptions about the double currently standing in the middle of his room and, in the process, had missed the bigger picture. He turned to see him cock an eyebrow.

"What are you?" Danny asked, thrust into sharp awareness of the existence of the boy in the jump suit in front of him.

"Besides a dead 14-year-old boy?" He asked lightly, "I guess I'm spare parts."

\-----------

"I'm about eighty percent sure this is it," Danny Phantom said, his eyes unmoving from the Fenton Portal. “I've, you know, never left. Can't leave.”

"Do you remember...?" Danny Fenton asked, ignoring the comment, his hand gently gliding over the metal of the frame.

"Do I remember dying? No."

"So, we don't share memories then?"

The phantom shook his head.

"Do you... want me to tell you?" Fenton asked.

"Would YOU want to know?"

"Yeah," Fenton replied, knee-jerk, then returned his attention to the machine in front of him. "I mean, isn't that what we might be doing anyway?"

The phantom nodded, uncomfortable and young.

"What do you know about me?" Danny Fenton asked, feeling like the adventurous cousin at the kid's table come Thanksgiving.

"I- I guess I know pieces here and there. I knew you existed.”

"I didn't know about you," Danny mumbled. "We- I went into the machinery of the portal. I thought I could get it working... Do you remember that?"

"No."

"I put on that jumpsuit. And then there was just- Pain. It wasn't until the pain hit that it even occurred to me that this wasn't such a bright idea. I thought I would just break apart into some molecular bullshit. My parents wouldn't even have a body to bury."

"They didn't," The phantom interrupted his reverie. "I wasn't buried." 

"I guess you weren't." He didn't want to continue as much as he'd thought he would.

Danny realized he hadn't actually told anyone about how it had been, how awful he'd felt for a really long time. For weeks, he was cooped up in his bedroom, experiencing a literal hellscape of supernatural bullshit - imagine lava lamp with eyeballs and hair - somehow pretending he was completely fine.

“You know what?” Fenton finally said. “Let's get going. I want to get this over with.”

Phantom looked mildly offended, something Fenton chose not to notice. Phantom pushed the poorly designed release button, opening the door into the Ghost Zone. Lazily swirling green gel lay before him like a sideways pool. He’d just have to dive in. Fenton stood on the edge, leaning into it and looking down, hand gripping the edge of the world like he was afraid to fall. He was afraid. 

“What's the hold up, cowboy?” Phantom asked, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes searing holes into the side of Danny’s head.

“If I'm dead, I don't fly,” Danny mumbled.

“Are you dead?”

“Stop.”

“Would it be the end of the world if you were?” Danny Phantom stared him down. Danny returned his stare.

“Is this a trick question?” 

“I don’t know, man. It's like Schrödinger's cat right now. Would you rather be dead or alive?” The Phantom said, his crossed arms seeming more like an attempt to hold himself. “Wouldn't it be better if this was just it?”

“No?” Danny said. Every reason he could think of was something the Phantom had been without for Lord knows how long. “I have people to get back to. Sam and Tucker and Mom… and…”

“And you'll still die eventually.” The Phantom said. “You leave them or they leave you. That's life. That's death.”

“They’ll be looking for me. I can’t just-”

“If you're dead, they’ll find a body.”

“And if I'm alive?”

“Haven't got a fucking clue.” The Phantom walked over to the cluttered work bench. He turned back with a rope. “We’ll tie this around your waist, you jump, and if you fall I can pull you back in. Case closed.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Danny said, looking dubiously at the proffered rope. “I don't know anymore.”

“Don't know…?”

“Just shut up, for a second.” Danny was suddenly aware of the reality of the rope in his hands, an untied noose. If he fell, there was a chance he'd keep falling. If he fell, he was dead. He'd have to face that truth alone. “I have to know, right?”

Danny Phantom picked up a metal skewer, held it up. Walked over to where Fenton was standing.

“Give me your hand,” he said, quietly. Fenton gave it. “Do you want to know?”

Danny nodded curtly, his eyes focussed on his hand. The Ghost Boy took the skewer and pressed it point down into his palm, stopping just before it broke skin. 

“Look at me,” Phantom said, feeling the anxiety radiating from Danny. “Whatever’s done is done.”

And punctured the skin. Something colored like cartoonish acid filled his palm, gathered in the lines of his hand. The Phantom pulled the skewer out and tossed it aside, holding Fenton's cut hand with both of his.

“Listen, it's okay. It's okay.” Phantom said, as Danny legs gave out. He followed him down, cradling Danny's injured hand. “It's fine. It's over.”

“It's over.” Danny mumbled, feeling something close to relief.

“It’s over.” Phantom said.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 will be posted soon! (Phantom/Fenton ahead)


End file.
